Wicked Witches of the Midwest Mystery Box Set

by Amanda M. Lee

  I felt a tug of sympathy but it was mild. For all I knew, he could’ve prepared this story to lull us into a false sense of security so he could knock us over the head and dump us in the pool. “Is that your excuse? You were an abused child?”

  “I’m not a killer.” Randy’s patience was obviously wearing thin. He flexed his hands at his sides. “My mother mistreated me my entire childhood. I never understood why she even wanted this place until I was older and watched her interact with the campers. She always picked one at every event and then tortured that kid until she made him cry ... or sometimes worse.”

  I balked. “I don’t remember her being like that.”

  “That’s because she was afraid of your great-aunt.” He shifted his appreciative eyes to Aunt Tillie. “I heard her telling my father that she wasn’t someone to be messed with and to stay away from her.”

  “Was your father a deviant, too?” Aunt Tillie asked. She seemed to be taking the story at face value. Of course, she was smart enough to play the game and attempt to lull Randy the same way I suspected he was trying to lull us.

  “My father was ... something else. He was more lazy than hurtful. He never stepped in when she was mistreating me. In fact, he seemed frightened of Mother and did his best to stay away from her.”

  “He sounds like a lovely father,” I muttered. “Are you saying he just sat around when your mother locked you in a closet?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “And ... no one ever questioned it?” I felt as if I was grasping at straws, but it seemed too early to trust him. This was a man who had been living in the woods by himself, pretending to be someone else, for a very long time. How could I trust him? I would never hear the end of it from Landon and Chief Terry if I blindly fell for his tale of woe. “What about bruises? What about Social Services?”

  “We had no family in the area,” Randy replied. “We moved away from the family when I was small. I didn’t understand it at the time — I really loved my grandparents — but I do now. She wanted to isolate me. She wanted to isolate my father, too.

  “We moved up here and they bought this property for a really low price,” he continued. “They knew the land would be worth something eventually. They simply had to figure out a business they thought would take little work and bring in easy money. They didn’t need much to live on. They came up with the idea of the camp. The property served as a camp before they bought it. All it needed was a few tweaks.”

  “Why did they think a camp wouldn’t be any work?” I challenged. “We’re talking about kids and nonstop outdoor activities. Of course that was going to be work.”

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t think it out. They were notorious for that. It doesn’t really matter. I was a teenager by the time this place was in full swing and I was already looking for a way out.”

  I tilted my head to the side, considering. “The rumor was you were lazy.”

  “Lazy? Probably. I learned my work ethic from them. I wasn’t allowed to have a job. They wanted to make sure I was completely dependent on them. People would offer me things and I wanted to say yes, but I was instructed to say no. If I agreed to work for someone else, that would’ve gotten me out of the house, and that’s not what she wanted. They even let me say yes a few times, but insisted I do a bad job so people wouldn’t ask me a second time. They wanted word to get out that I wasn’t worth hiring.”

  “You said your mother killed your father,” Aunt Tillie pressed. “How do you know that?”

  “I guess I don’t know it for certain, but I’m fairly sure,” he hedged. “They got in a huge fight one night and slept in separate rooms. I was an adult at this time – by seven years, which is sad when you think about it – I could hear my mother grumbling about him the entire next day. Then, out of nowhere, she made dinner for him ... and made sure that I didn’t eat anything off the platter.

  “He didn’t make it thirty minutes after dinner before he was complaining about heart palpitations and holding his left arm,” he continued. “I wanted to call for help, but she wouldn’t let me. She basically sat in the chair — his favorite chair — and watched him die on the floor. He knew it was happening and didn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him beg. He cursed her until the very end.”

  “Didn’t they perform an autopsy?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m guessing they did a cursory examination, but my father was in his sixties and wasn’t in the best of health. They probably didn’t expect to find anything, so they didn’t. I was hopeful they would, but it didn’t happen and I had to let it go.

  “After that she was worse, and I wasn’t sure that was even possible,” he said. “She was meaner than a snake and took to blaming me for my father’s death. There was more work to do around the house than she could keep up on and she wanted me to do it. I was happy to do it as long as it kept her off my back. But that didn’t last long.

  “The first time I realized she was really mentally ill — I mean, crazy as a loon — was when she insisted I fill in at the campground because one of the counselors didn’t show up. I was in my twenties then and looking for a way out, but I knew I had to be well prepared because I didn’t want to be forced to come back once I ran.

  “That was the first summer Vicky was a counselor,” he continued, taking on a wistful expression. “She was a lot younger than me, but she was full of life. I remember looking at her and thinking that she was the sort of person I wanted to run away with. She planned on traveling all over the world, and I loved that idea because I desperately wanted to get away from my mother.

  “My mother saw the way I was mooning over her and didn’t like it. She made a big deal and attacked me at the house that night. She’s small, but she’s not afraid to use whatever weapon she can get her hands on, including a baseball bat or frying pan. She left bruises all over my back. I should’ve run then — it would’ve saved Vicky — but I didn’t. I wasn’t ready.

  “The next summer Vicky came back and I had to fill in as a counselor again,” he said. “I flirted with her every chance I got. She was nineteen, legal, and I thought maybe I could leave with her. She had plans to travel once camp was over. She was going to return to the area when her sister gave birth, but I had no intention of doing that. I was going to use her for a ride and to get away.

  “My mother heard us talking one night,” he explained. “I was trying to convince her to give me a ride. She wasn’t keen on it because she didn’t know me very well. I think she thought I was a pervert or something, that’s why I kept looking at her. I just wanted to get away.”

  I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as things began coming together. “Your mother wanted to stop you from leaving so she killed Vicky.”

  “She did. She smacked her over the head with a brick after dark that last night. I was there. I saw her do it. I was terrified. I wanted to warn Vicky. It was already over before I could even get my wits about me, though.

  “My mother dragged her to the pool and opened up the deep end,” he continued. “She had the tool they used for the cover handy and just flipped up three of the hooks, rolled Vicky’s body inside and then closed it again. The hardest part for her was dragging Vicky’s body but she used a wheelbarrow. I swear she carried the entire thing out in ten minutes flat.”

  “What did you do?” Aunt Tillie questioned. “Why didn’t you go to the police and tell them what you saw?”

  “I should have. If you think I don’t already know that, you’re wrong. I should’ve gone straight to the police but I was afraid of her. I thought they might blame me because I had no doubt she would turn the tables and accuse me to save her own skin. I made a much more likely suspect, what with the entire town thinking I was lazy and stupid.”

  “Is that when you moved to the shed?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he bobbed his head. “I couldn’t stay in the same house with her because I was afraid. I knew she would put up a fight if I tried to s
tay there over the long haul, but she had a migraine when she came back. I simply suggested it would be better if I stayed in the shed versus the closet for the night because it would make things easier on her.

  “Once I was outside, I wasn’t sure what to do,” he continued. “I knew I wanted to run but I had to do it in a smart way. I wanted people to think I was dead so they wouldn’t look at me. A fire seemed the easiest route, but I needed a body to hide in the shed to convince people I’d really died.”

  Now we were finally getting somewhere. “Where did you find a body?”

  “The funeral home.” His answer was easy, succinct. “They had three in there that weren’t claimed from some accident. I took one of them, broke in and just took it because I knew they didn’t lock the back door thanks to Brad Horton, whose father owned the place, and carried it back to the shed. I put the body in the shed, added some gasoline to the mix — really doused the body to get it good — and then lit a match.

  “I watched from the trees across the road from the house,” he continued. “I wanted to see her reaction. I didn’t expect her to mourn me, but I wanted to make sure she believed. I had access to Vicky’s car. She stupidly left it at the camp. I knew Vicky wasn’t going to be using it, so I decided that I should take it for my escape.

  “My mother was furious when she came outside and saw the mess. She ranted and screamed my name. It never occurred to her that I was inside. She didn’t call the police. The neighbors did that. When they showed up with the fire department, they decided to let it burn out naturally because there was no chance of it spreading.

  “I stayed in the woods the entire time and watched, even though it went late into the night,” he said. “Once the fire was completely out they went inside ... and found the body. Up until then, I think my mother believed that I set the fire to mess with her. That it was some form of rebellion. When they found the body, though, they naturally assumed it was me.”

  “Did no one ever miss the body at the funeral home?” I asked, confused.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t stick around. I took the few belongings I had, packed Vicky’s car, and left. I moved to Detroit to get away from Walkerville. I had no intention of coming back.

  “While I was down there, I kept an ear to the news reports because I wanted to make sure they never put it together that I was still alive,” he continued. “I could’ve been charged with a crime for setting the fire and burning the body. I felt bad for whoever that was, but he was already dead and I just wanted to be free.”

  It was a stirring story. There were still a few holes in it, though. “You came back, though,” I pressed. “Why did you come back?”

  “Believe it or not, I didn’t have any job skills.” He was rueful as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I managed to find a guy who created a fake identity for me. Randy Weaver. The Social Security number belonged to a boy who died in infancy.

  “I managed to find work in restaurants ... and construction ... and other places, but it was hard to eke out a living because I wanted to be paid under the table and it seemed everyone I approached was leery of that,” he said. “Even more than that, though, I was curious. I made it five years before returning home.

  “I looked different then. I’d taken to dying my hair darker and was used to doing it. I was a thin and underdeveloped kid, so I looked really different when I filled out. I was almost twenty-six when I left. I was thirty-one when I came back. I grew a beard, avoided my mother, and became Randy Weaver, jack-of-all-trades.

  “The people in Hemlock Cove were surprisingly eager to hire me,” he supplied. “Up here I could make enough money to survive and I knew how to keep a roof over my head at the camp. I picked the far side of the lake because my mother never visited that part of the camp ... and then I watched her.”

  “Were you planning on getting revenge?” Aunt Tillie asked, leaning against the doorjamb. She appeared perfectly comfortable with the conversation.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want her to get away with what she did, but I also had a lot of fear built up. Most people ignored me. They didn’t question what I was doing out here. People knew me as Randy Weaver, not Joey Morgan. Joey was long forgotten. I wanted it that way.

  “When someone did ask, which was rare, I told them my mother hired me to look after the camp. No one ever questioned it,” he said. “The camp was nothing but a backdrop for a sad tale about a woman who had lost her husband and son. People felt sorry for my mother, which I hated, but I couldn’t exactly tell them the truth.”

  “I can see that,” I offered. “It sounds like your mother was a horrible person. The thing is ... you could’ve put her away a long time ago. All you had to do was tell the truth.”

  “Do you think the cops would’ve believed me over her? Be honest.”

  “I ... .” In truth, I couldn’t answer that. “I think Chief Terry would’ve dug until he found the truth.”

  “I couldn’t take that chance. I had one opportunity to get away and I took it. I broke laws doing it, but I had to get away. You have no idea how horrible she was.”

  I was starting to get a picture. “What about Hannah? How did she end up in the pool?”

  “I ran into Hannah when she was out here poking around one day. She surprised me. I ran the Randy Weaver story on her and she seemed to believe it. I was certain she believed it. She took a few photographs of the lake, waved as she got in her car, and took off. I didn’t think anything of it until she came back the next day ... and this time she was armed with questions.”

  I thought about the notation I’d seen in her notebook. “She knew who you were.”

  He nodded. “She’d just researched my death and saw a photograph of me from the accompanying news article. I was fresh in her mind and she looked past the beard and added pounds. She addressed me by my real name.”

  “And then what?” I prodded.

  “And then I told her the truth,” he replied simply. “I told her about my mother, about running, and about why I came back. I told her everything. She was fascinated with the story and wanted to include it in her book. She filled a whole notebook with the things I told her.”

  I frowned at the news. “We didn’t see that notebook when we found her things at the Dragonfly.”

  “Well, she had a blue notebook that she wrote in. Maybe it’s in her car. It’s behind the old paper mill on Wolcott Road. My mother moved it there after she killed Hannah.”

  “But ... why would she kill Hannah?” This was the part I didn’t understand. “Say I believe you and accept that your mother killed Vicky to keep you from running away with her. Why would she go after Hannah?”

  “Because she was a slut just like the first one and I had to keep my boy safe,” a different voice answered, causing me to jump back as a shadow appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Joey. I just knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from your mother forever.”

  Twenty-Nine

  “Hello, Gertie.” I managed to maintain my cool, but just barely. My stomach was knotted and for some weird reason I wanted to throw a chair at her and climb under the desk. That wasn’t really my style — it was more Clove’s style — but fear is sometimes an irrational beast.

  “Hello, Bay.” Gertie was calm. She had a gun in her hand, and even though she was outnumbered she was clearly in control. If she felt fear, she didn’t show it. “I knew you would come back, Joey. I had no idea you were here the entire time — I never thought to check out Randy Weaver until Bay mentioned the name — but I know now. It’s good to have you back.”

  Randy didn’t return his mother’s evil smile. “I’m not back.”

  “But you are.”

  “I’m not.” He was firm. “I want nothing to do with you. I never did. I only came back so I could keep an eye on you. That backfired spectacularly, didn’t it? I wanted to keep you from killing again, but you did it right under my nose. How?”

  “And why?” I added. I had no doubt Randy was telling the truth.
Gertie’s cool demeanor — and the gun she had pointed directly at my chest — were dead giveaways. “What did Hannah Bishop ever do to you?”

  “She stuck her nose where it didn’t belong,” Gertie replied simply. “I knew she was going to be trouble the second she showed up on my doorstep asking questions about Joey. They were rather pointed and phrased in such a way that made me realize he was still alive. Until she showed up, I assumed he’d died in the shed like everybody else. I was wrong.”

  “We were all wrong,” Aunt Tillie agreed. “But why kill the girl? She wasn’t doing anything but being curious.”

  “She was sticking her nose into things she had no right to ask about,” Gertie hissed. “Joey was none of her business. Earl was none of her business.”

  “She must’ve gone to see Mom the night she accused me of being Joey,” Randy mused. “I was so worked up I didn’t think about what she would do next. I just took off and thought about what she said the entire night.”

  “She visited me.” Gertie was smug. “She said that she had reason to believe that Joey was still alive. I thought that was nonsense, of course. A body was found in the shed. Joey had no reason to leave me ... and yet she was so sure of herself I couldn’t stop myself from wondering.

  “Then she started asking intolerable questions,” she continued. “She wanted to know if Joey had reason to run away. She assumed his father mistreated him, that Joey was beaten and terrorized. She said she’d been doing research on certain personality types and believed Joey fit into a neat little box.

  “I was so angry I wanted to kill her right there, but I didn’t,” she continued. “I kept my temper in check. I’m much better about doing that now, Joey.”

  “My name is Randy.” He gritted out the words. “Don’t call me that. Joey died in that shed.”

  “Someone died in that shed,” Gertie agreed. “But it wasn’t you. You’re standing right in front of me.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. “You must’ve tracked down Hannah after the fact. You killed her out here.”